The Tenderness of Thieves

by Donna Freitas

Then one afternoon I was headed down to the beach, flip-flops dangling in my left hand, bag bumping against my hip. I was even humming. Out of nowhere someone stepped onto the sidewalk in front of me, and I was forced to look up.

  Joey McCallen, all six-foot-square ugly of him, was blocking my path.

  Maybe if I’d paid more attention, I could have avoided running into the oldest McCallen brother. I would have seen him sitting out on his stoop drinking a beer and turned left at the previous corner instead of walking straight on by. But I was too busy thinking about what Handel and I did out on his boat last night with the moon shining down on us and only the waves as our audience.

  “Jane, we need to talk,” Joey said, the freckles on his face darker than ever after so much time in the summer sun.

  I forced myself not to look away. “I thought we said all that needed saying last time. Your brother Patrick found those boots. I heard you. What more is there to discuss?”

  He took a long swig of his beer, draining it. Then he crushed the can and tossed it onto a burned patch of lawn. “You hanging around all over town with Handel Davies.”

  “Why is that any of your business?” I asked, trying to keep my tone smooth, even as my heart sputtered a little.

  His eyes were hard on me. “It’s a bad idea.”

  I dropped my flip-flops to the ground to give myself an excuse to focus on something else. I slipped my feet into them, one by one. “Is there something you know that I don’t?”

  When I looked up at Joey again, there was a flash of panic on his face. Like he hadn’t thought through where this conversation might go and, now that we were having it, he regretted starting it. How strange, I thought, to see someone like Joey McCallen get nervous.

  “The Davies family isn’t good for you,” he said.

  “Oh yeah? Tell that to Mrs. Davies.” I was getting defensive. “She’s good to me and so is her son.” Handel had been bringing me around to his house when either no one was home or if only his mother was. To say that she was happy about me hanging out with her son was an understatement. But Handel kept me far away from his brothers.

  Joey stared at me, unblinking, despite the fact that the sun was at my back. “I’m giving you some sound advice.”

  I tilted my head. Narrowed my eyes. “So the Davies boys aren’t good for me and the McCallens are?”

  Joey took a step back, like he’d been hit. If it was possible to hurt the feelings of a McCallen boy, it seemed like I might have just done it. “Don’t listen to me, then. I’m only trying to protect you. I’ve always—only—wanted to protect you.”

  I took a step forward, feeling bolder now. “And why would it be your job to protect me?”

  “Your father was a good man,” he said, the emotion in his voice unexpected. “He helped me out once. And now that he isn’t around to look out for you, I thought somebody else should.”

  I let out a big breath, my body deflated. “Oh,” I said, unsure where to go next. I shifted my bag to my other shoulder, trying to find something to do, my nervous trick. “I didn’t know you knew my father that well,” I went on, gaining a little confidence. “I really appreciate the gesture and you wanting to help me out, but I’m a big girl and I know what I’m doing.”

  “I don’t think you do,” Joey said, but his attention was already on the front stoop, where another beer was sweating in the sun, waiting for him.

  “It’s nice to see you, Joey, but I’ve got to go,” I said, and got up the nerve to walk past him, swerving to avoid the place where he stood on the sidewalk. I assumed he’d immediately go back to his beer and his people watching, or whatever it was that Joey McCallen did on a hot July afternoon. But when I turned around for one last look, he was still watching me. He raised a hand to wave good-bye.

  It was this image—of Joey McCallen waving on the sidewalk, seeming so helpless—that somehow knocked away thoughts of Handel for the first time in what felt like forever.

  • • •

  “What’s wrong?” Bridget asked when I reached the girls’ spot on the beach. “I haven’t seen that look on your face in, well, you know . . . since . . . um . . .” She trailed off.

  “I get it,” I said. “I’m fine. I guess. I just had a weird encounter with Joey McCallen,” I added, but as soon as this was out, I wanted to stuff it back in. I didn’t really want to talk about what he’d told me.

  But Michaela was going to try and make me, of course. She looked up from her magazine. “What kind of weird encounter?”

  “Forget it.” I plopped down on my towel and immediately lay on my back. I pulled my shirt over my face to block out the sun.

  Michaela tugged it away. “Spill.”

  “It was nothing.” I felt around for my sunglasses and put them on, then set the shirt aside again. “Where’s Tammy?”

  “Off somewhere making out with Seamus,” Bridget said with a laugh.

  “Really?” I asked, a bit of happiness returning. Those two were finally acting like the couple they were meant to be. I looked over at Michaela for confirmation.

  Her eyes were on her magazine again. “We don’t know that for sure.”

  Now I looked at Bridget on my other side.

  “But we have our suspicions,” Bridget said.

  “Where’s James?” I asked her.

  “He’s with his family today. Golfing.” She rolled her eyes.

  I smirked at her. “Who knew that you would date a golfer this summer.”

  “Oh yeah?” She took her sunglasses off and smirked back. “Who knew that you’d be sleeping with Handel Davies every chance you got this summer.”

  My skin flushed hot. “Not every chance.”

  “Right,” Michaela said, trying to sound bored about it.

  “Like you should talk,” I said to her. “Ms. I’d-rather-be-kissing-Hugh.”

  She turned a page of her magazine. “Maybe. But at least I’m not sleeping with him.”

  “Now you’re judging me for having sex?”

  This time, when Michaela went to turn another page, she snapped it so hard it tore in half. “Shit,” she said under her breath. Then she looked at me. “I’m not judging you for having sex. That’s really not it. I’m judging you for having sex with Handel.”

  I sat up. “Handel loves me.”

  “So he says.”

  Bridget gasped. “Michaela!”

  Now I got up, grabbing my bag and stuffing my shirt inside. “I don’t need this today. Or any other day. You’ve had a problem with me and Handel from the very beginning, Michaela, and now it’s turning into a problem I have with you.” I grabbed my towel from the sand so quickly the sand flew up into the air and landed all over Michaela.

  “Hey,” she protested, turning over, brushing it off the side of her face, and shaking it from her hair.

  It was so satisfying I almost smiled. “I’m leaving. See you, B.”

  Bridget’s mouth was hanging open. She closed it. “Jane. Don’t go.”

  “If it was just you, I’d stay. But certain people are making me feel unwelcome,” I added, turning my back on Michaela to wave at Bridget before stalking off. To where, I wasn’t sure. Definitely not toward Joey McCallen’s stoop, though. I’d had enough unpleasant encounters for one day.

  • • •

  Or not.

  I hadn’t thought much about the direction I was taking when I left the beach, but for some reason my feet headed over to the rich side of town. I was there before I thought about it. I found myself entering that fancy coffee shop, the one where I’d met up with Handel when we were still hiding from his friends. It was empty except for that same girl who pronounced her syllables totally and completely working behind the counter.

  And Logan—Miles’s friend Logan. The one who hadn’t taken an interest in any of us girls this summer. Or if he’d had an interest i
n Bridget, he’d lost that fight.

  Logan glanced up from the table where he was eating a bagel. “Jane?”

  “Hey,” I said, going over to him. “I haven’t seen you in a while. Or Miles,” I added.

  He took a sip of his iced coffee, then set it down again. Shrugged. “I’m the odd one out among you and your friends,” he said, but not in a way that sounded bitter or angry. Just like he was stating the truth.

  “But Miles isn’t, either—”

  Logan stopped me from finishing with a look that said really, Jane? “He may not be dating one of you, but we all know he’d like to. And who he’d like to. As do you.”

  I studied the floor. “Yeah. I guess so.”

  Logan’s eyes were on me. I could feel them. “He’s a really great guy.”

  There was something about this big confident boy advocating for his friend that made me want to cry. “I know he is.”

  “You shouldn’t have led him on. Miles would treat you like a queen if you went out with him.”

  I sighed. Guilty. “I know that, too.”

  “Then why don’t you?”

  My toes were nudging the leg of the table. I still couldn’t bring myself to meet Logan’s eyes. “Because I’m with someone else.”

  “Miles is better than that other guy.”

  “Not for me,” I said, finally looking up at him. “I care about Miles. I do. But not in that way.”

  For the first time Logan lost his composure a bit, and scoffed. He was shaking his head, like I’d disgusted him. “You never gave Miles a chance.”

  Anger flared in me, as it had all day. I tried to tamp it down, but at this point I’d had too much of it. Too much anger and too much judgment from the people around me. “That’s because he never had one. Miles is no match for Handel, and Miles knows it. Logan.” Logan sighed long and disapproving. I turned around and stalked out of the coffee shop without buying a thing. I could feel his disapproval hit my back and stay there, hovering around me, following me everywhere I went.

  I couldn’t shake it.

  THIRTY-TWO

  THAT EVENING, I WAITED for Handel to come in on his father’s boat. I watched Mr. Johansen and his sons dealing with their catch for the day. Mr. Lorry and Old Man Boyd. I watched one of the Sweeney boys, the oldest one, chain-smoking cigarettes and looking out over the ocean like he had a lot to think about, and for a while I wondered what. Then I watched a few of my father’s former colleagues doing their rounds along the wharf and to the docks and back, making sure they didn’t see me. I watched Mrs. Lorry, too, shuffling along the boardwalk toward her husband with a paper bag of something that made his eyes light up when it and she arrived, then he bent down and kissed her sweetly.

  But no Handel.

  I thought he was working today.

  He told me he was.

  Had his plans simply changed like plans do sometimes?

  Or worse: Had he lied?

  The image of all that worry on Joey McCallen’s face entered my mind without permission, and the judgment and scolding of everyone else tugged at the purity of all my happiness with Handel, tugged at it in this way that threatened to unravel it.

  I took a deep breath, got ahold of myself, and shooed it away.

  When the sun had drained entirely from the sky, I had to accept that Handel wasn’t coming, at least not on a boat. I gave up waiting and started through town, first along the wharf, and then down Chestnut, thinking I’d take the long way home. It was a nice night. Or maybe I was thinking that if I went this route it would take me past all the street corners where Handel stood around with his friends and right near his house, too, close enough that I’d be able to see it at the other end of the block.

  It wasn’t long before my efforts were rewarded.

  I heard voices and loud laughter a ways down the street. My head snapped in its direction and my heart leapt when I saw that familiar long dirty-blond hair, tangling like it always did in the summer breeze. Without hesitation I headed in Handel’s direction. Relief and excitement mingled with a dash of doubt, my confusion about finding him here and not where he said he’d be pressing in on the certainty I’d come to have about him. These feelings and others stormed through me as I got closer, and with my new proximity I realized I was wrong, that the person with the long blond hair was slightly shorter than Handel, that I’d mistaken his older brother Colin for him. Out of the shadows emerged Cutter and Mac.

  I halted in the middle of the street, right while I was crossing it.

  Then I saw another head of long blond hair, a second one. Handel was with them. There came the raised voices, but this time I understood that it hadn’t been laughter I was hearing, but fighting words and anger, shouting that those boys were trying to hold down. It was getting the best of them, though, and ringing through the streets.

  I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what I was witnessing, but it left me cold. I stood there frozen, unsure if I should go forward or turn and go the other way.

  They hadn’t seen me. Not yet.

  But then Cutter’s eyes shifted, just a little. They didn’t have to go far to land on me. His mouth moved, forming words I could not hear, and the rest of them turned around.

  Handel, too.

  And the scent, that scent of something rotten and sweet, wafted toward me in the breeze.

  I thought I might collapse right there in front of all of them.

  Could it be coming from Handel?

  I was going to be sick.

  “Jane,” he called to me, and came jogging over.

  The smell—it disappeared.

  It wasn’t Handel.

  Of course it wasn’t him.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked me.

  Everyone was staring at us.

  “I’m walking through town,” I said, not entirely friendly. Not entirely recovered. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “Yeah. Of course.” His eyes darted all over the place, like he was worried someone was watching, even though of course he knew more than a few someones were already doing just that.

  “I waited for you down at the docks for over an hour,” I told him.

  “You did?” he asked, in this way that tried for nonchalance, like it was no big deal he’d told me he’d be one place and then I’d found him in another.

  That’s when I knew he was lying. “You obviously weren’t there because you were here. I thought you were working today on the boat. I guess not?”

  Handel sighed. Then he finally looked at me straight on. “My plans changed.”

  “I see that.”

  He glanced at his friends and his brother again. “Let’s get out of here. Do you want to get out of here?”

  I shrugged.

  “Come on,” he said, grabbing my hand and leading me away.

  The pull of him was too strong for me to resist.

  The second his fingers laced through mine, I nearly melted.

  Handel led me right past Cutter and Colin and Mac, who weren’t saying a single word, just eyeing us in that disbelieving way I’d seen from them on other days. I held my breath as long as I could. I didn’t want to collapse beneath that smell again.

  It wasn’t long before Handel’s house came into view. Handel was two steps ahead of me the whole time, my arm stretched taut. Just before we reached the edge of his front yard, I stopped short, as though I was about to go over the edge of a cliff. Handel tugged me forward at first, but I didn’t budge, and then he came to a halt, too. Turned and looked at me. “What’s wrong, Jane?”

  My heart was hammering and not in a good way. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  He let go of my hand, went searching around his pocket, hovering over his pack of cigarettes. He was dying to smoke. He was nervous. “There’s nothing to tell.”

 
“I think you’re lying. Don’t lie to me, Handel.”

  He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. So he didn’t have to look at me, I thought. He took a long drag. Blew out the smoke. “It’s just family stuff.”

  “That wasn’t just your family back there. Your friends, too.”

  “I was arguing with my brother.”

  “What about?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Why not?”

  He looked at me finally. He had that darkness in his eyes again. I hadn’t seen it in a long time. “It’s complicated.”

  “I can handle complicated. We’ve already gotten through complicated. Remember?”

  “Jane, don’t press me. I can’t talk about this right now. It’s long past talking about,” he added. He was pleading.

  “You can tell me anything,” I said, my heart hammering harder. I was a little afraid of what Handel might say next. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You don’t know that. You don’t know what you’re asking to hear.”

  “There’s nothing you can say that would push me away. Not now.” I took a step forward, stepped right off the cliff. Forced myself to look into Handel’s eyes without fear or worry or doubt. “I love you.”

  Handel opened his mouth. He opened it, and I thought he was going to tell me whatever was on his mind, whatever it was that weighed him down, made him feel desperate and maybe even afraid. But then he closed it, without a word.

  That’s when I noticed his eyes were glassy.

  There were tears pooling along their rims.

  My heart just about broke.

  Handel Davies, crying?

  I couldn’t let it happen. Just couldn’t watch it happen.

  So I went to him. I went to him and put my arms around his waist and pressed my cheek into his chest. I did this until he bent his chin low and it came to rest on the top of my head and his arms wrapped around my back. We stayed there a long time. When he finally released me, without a word, we went into his empty house, empty of his mother and father and brothers, climbing the stairs to his room and locking the door behind us.

  I didn’t go home that night.